Chimes at Midnight

SEVEN

AFTER SOME DEBATE—and writing our order on a piece of scratch paper—Quentin and Tybalt were dispatched to get coffee, on the theory that Mags was the Librarian and I was the one who’d actually be banished if I didn’t find something useful in these books. I squinted at the one I had open, wondering if it would make more sense after I’d had some coffee. Mags emerged from the shelf-maze with another four books in her arms.

I looked up. “Was this written to be confusing?”

“What’s the title?”

“Um . . . A History of the Westlands, volume III.”

“Then yes. That series was written to the style of the time, which called for absolute heroism on the part of everyone involved, even the villains. It made things a bit difficult to muddle through.” She put the fresh stack of books down next to me. “It might help if I knew what you were looking for. King Gilad wasn’t a friend of mine, but we met. He came to the Library more than a few times. Never would tell me what he was looking for, but oh, he was a sweet one, when he wanted to be . . .”

I looked up, assessing her. Finally, after a pause almost long enough to let me lose my nerve, I asked, “What do you know about the Queen of the Mists?”

“Not much. Our biography on her is more like a pamphlet. ‘How to start a war and terrorize your citizenry without revealing your real name.’ And she’s not Gilad’s heir, of course. I’d have been happy to confirm that, if I’d ever been asked.” Mags shook her head. “She claimed the throne, the local nobles backed her, and no one ever came here to check her pedigree. Sloppy. But then, succession so often is.”

I stared at her.

She blinked. “What? Did I say something wrong? Not that it matters—Libraries are sovereign territories. I can’t commit treason unless I do it outside these walls.”

“Good to know.” I set the book I’d been struggling with aside. “How can you be sure she wasn’t his heir?”

Mags blinked again, wings buzzing in a rapid blur that telegraphed her confusion. “Because I met his children.”

I was on my feet before I realized I was going to move. “Children? King Gilad never married.”

“Marriage is not a requirement for children, nor does every marriage result in children,” said Mags slowly. “Do I need to add some books about sexual reproduction to your pull list?”

“No! I mean . . . he was the King. Why wouldn’t he have gotten married if he was going to have children?”

“As a King, I believe I can answer that,” said Tybalt. I turned. He was standing in the opening of the nearest row of bookshelves with Quentin and a tray of take-out cups. “I never introduced my wife to the Divided Courts. My cats knew her because I wanted her to have their protection. But she never met a soul she did not need to know.”

He walked over to me, taking the largest of the cups off the tray and holding it out. I took it. He smiled, a little sadly.

“A King learns to conceal what matters most, lest others use it as a weapon against him. I learned that early and held it dear. If King Gilad had children, he did well to keep them from the public eye.”

“A little too well, since it looks like it netted us the wrong Queen.” I turned back to Mags. “Were they too young to claim the throne when their father died?”

“They may have been dead, or injured, or lost in grief,” she said. “The Kingdom was in chaos after the earthquake. No one expected Gilad to be killed. If Arden and Nolan lived—”

I went still. “Wait. Arden?”

“Yes. Arden Windermere, the King’s daughter.”

When Dean and Peter Lorden were kidnapped, their kidnappers hid them in a shallowing in Muir Woods. The Luidaeg was able to convince it to let us in by telling it that Arden lived. The Luidaeg never lied.

The King’s daughter was alive.

Quentin’s thoughts had clearly mirrored mine. He nodded toward the door. “I’ll stay here and keep reading,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “Mags, if we go, can we come back?”

“Of course,” she said. “A Library pass is good for a fortnight, and you owe me information. The Library will not move as long as your pass is good.”

“Since that’s more time than I have left in the Kingdom, that should be more than enough.” I turned to Tybalt. “We need to go back to the Luidaeg.”

He nodded. “Yes. I suppose we do.”

“Wait!”

We both turned to Mags. “Yes?” I asked.

“Is the Luidaeg still in San Francisco?” Her cheeks reddened as she added, “I haven’t heard from her in years. I thought she’d moved on to some other coastal city.”

“She’s here,” I said. “I don’t know why, but she’s here. And I think she knows where Arden Windermere is, which means I need to talk to her. Quentin, call if you need anything, or if you need us to come and get you, okay?”

“Okay.” He sat down on the couch with his coffee. “I’m good at research.”

“Compared to me, so are pixies.” I looked to Mags. “It’s been lovely to meet you. I hope we meet again soon.”

“As do I,” she said. “Open roads and kind fires.”

“All winds to guide you,” I replied, and moved toward Tybalt. He put the tray with the remaining cups down before taking hold of me and stepping into the shadows. The last thing I saw was Mags’ startled expression. Then the blackness blocked everything else, and we were running through the cold, me trying to hold Tybalt’s hand and my coffee at the same time, Tybalt pulling me along at his usual breakneck pace. I thought briefly about drinking the coffee, and decided that would cross the line from silly to stupid.

The sun had come up while we were in the Library; its walls had been enough to protect us from the effects of the dawn. That was a pleasant surprise. We emerged from the shadows onto the street a few blocks from the Luidaeg’s apartment. I stepped away from Tybalt and peered into my coffee cup before sighing. “It’s frozen.”

“That happens to liquids on the Shadow Roads,” said Tybalt. He sniffed the air, and frowned. “October . . .”

“Is this where you tell me the Queen is staking out the Luidaeg’s place in order to keep me from going for help?”

He paused, frown deepening, before he asked, “How did you know?”

“It’s what I’d do, if I were feeling really stupid and predictable.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialing half a phone number before muttering, “Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to piss off the Queen,” and filling the rest of the screen with zeros. The cut grass and copper smell of my magic rose around me as I raised the phone to my ear.

It was ringing. It shouldn’t have been, but it was, and that meant that it was working. As expected, the Luidaeg picked up after the first ring, demanding, “What?”

“The Queen has troops watching your apartment to make sure I can’t reach you. Tybalt and I are a few blocks north, at the edge of your anti-teleportation field. Can you please come get us? I need to talk to you.”

“She has people watching my apartment?”

“Yes, and I’m feeling sort of exposed out here on the street. Come get me.” I hung up.

Tybalt looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “I realize the sea witch is a friend of yours, October, but are you sure it’s wise to talk to her that way?”

“My head hurts from trying to read all those stupid books at the Library, I’ve been exiled, I’m wearing a dress, and my coffee’s frozen.” I folded my arms and scowled. “I’ll talk to her any way I want to.”

“Even so.”

I paused, and then sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much patience left.” A suspiciously deep shadow had formed along the wall of the nearest alley. I eyed it before calling, “I’m supposed to have three days. Why don’t you scuttle on back to your mistress and tell her I’m not setting anything on fire, okay?”

The shadow split into four pieces, each bipedal and man-sized. I continued to eye it dubiously. The shadow continued to dwindle, until four men in human disguises were standing there.

“Shoo,” I said.

“We’ve got our eyes on you,” one of them replied. He was either their leader, or the only one too brave to have any sense. “There will be none of your trickery this time.”

Footsteps approached down the street. “I have never resorted to trickery, and I resent the implication that I would,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting a friend.” I turned toward the sound, and was greeted by the sight of the Luidaeg, wearing her customary overalls and work boots. She was scowling. I waved. Her scowl deepened.

I glanced over my shoulder to see how the men by the wall were responding. Answer: they weren’t. They were looking at her the way they’d look at any random human. I turned back to the Luidaeg. “I don’t think they know who you are.”

“I didn’t think you’d be back here this soon,” she said. She glared at the men. “Really? You called me out here for this?”

“Well, those four, and however many are between us and your place,” I said. “If they don’t know who you are, I’m not sure why they’re staking out your apartment, but I didn’t feel like getting arrested without doing anything wrong.”

“I’m sure you’ll do something wrong before the day’s out.” She stalked past me, heading straight for the four men standing by the wall. They blinked at her, nonplussed. I turned to watch the fun.

“What is she doing?” asked Tybalt.

“I don’t know, but I wish I had popcorn,” I said.

The Luidaeg raised her hand and snapped her fingers, and just like that, their human disguises disappeared. Two were Daoine Sidhe. The others were Candela and Ellyllon, respectively. All four were wearing the Queen’s livery. One reached for his sword. She turned to look at him. Her eyes had gone white from side to side, like fog rolling in over the water.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said, and her voice was an undertow, promising all the darkness and dangers of the open sea. “Let me guess. Your lady told you to watch the places October was known to frequent; told you this was one of them; didn’t tell you why. She said you should stand here, and harry her if you got the chance. If not, you were to return to Court, report your findings, and stand another watch. Am I right?”

“Who are you?”

“Uh-uh, that’s not how this goes. I asked the first question. Am I right?”

The man swallowed. I felt almost sorry for him in that moment. It didn’t last. “Yes. You’re correct.”

“Bully for me. Now here’s your answer: I am the sea witch. I am the tide you fear and the turning you can’t deny. I am the sound of the waves running over your bones on the beach, little man, and I am not amused at finding you on my doorstep.” She took a step forward. He took a step back. “I won’t punish you for obeying orders the way she would. But I can’t let an insult go unanswered. You know how it goes.” A smile twisted her lips. “I’m actually grateful. You see, there are . . . rules . . . that govern what I can and can’t do. But you broke them first. Now I get to do something I don’t get to do very often. Now I get to play.”

The man grabbed for his sword. The Luidaeg raised her hand, whispering something I couldn’t hear, and all four of them froze. They stayed that way for several minutes. I knew the Luidaeg was speaking—the wind brought me enough of her voice for that—but not what she was saying. Maybe that was for the best. Finally, she turned and walked back to us.

“That’s done,” she said. “Let’s go to the apartment. It’s a nice morning, but there’s so much traffic on these streets.”

Except for the Queen’s men, we hadn’t seen a soul. “What did you do?”

“Nothing they hadn’t allowed by coming onto my territory. Every soul who came here on the Queen’s business will go home, go to bed, and sleep soundly, dreaming the sweetest of dreams.”

Something about that statement had teeth. I paused, and then ventured, “For how long?”

The Luidaeg smiled brilliantly. “Until something wakes them up. True love, childbirth, and bees are all on the table.”

It seemed grossly unfair. I knew better than to say anything about it. As the Luidaeg was so fond of pointing out, Faerie isn’t fair, and as a punishment, it was entirely in line with what the stories said she’d do. Instead, I just nodded. “Let’s go.”

No one bothered us on the way back to her place. I was unsurprised to see that the illusory mess she created for my benefit was back when she opened the door. “Come in. I don’t have all day.”

“Neither do I,” I said, following her inside. “Did you send me to look for information on King Gilad because you wanted me to start looking for Arden Windermere?”

“You mean Her Highness the Crown Princess in the Mists, even if she wasn’t formally recognized,” said the Luidaeg, and smiled. “Good girl. This way.” She started for the living room. We followed her.

She was already on her knees in front of an old oak sea chest when we got there, throwing things randomly to the floor as she dug them out. “Gilad and his lover never married, because he feared that what had happened to his parents would happen to his wife and children, if he ever publicly acknowledged them,” she said, as soon as we were close enough to hear. “So he hid her, for her own protection, and they raised their children in secrecy. But some of us knew. Some of us had to know.” She looked up and smiled, baring her teeth in a distinctly predatory fashion. “Some of us had to craft the charms that hid them.”

“You told the shallowing in Muir Woods that Arden lived,” I said. “King Gilad’s children survived the earthquake.”

“Yes, but they were in no shape to claim the throne, and by the time they were ready, the pretender was already in place.” She produced a glass flask from the chest. It was small, the sort of thing that used to be sold off the back of snake oil wagons, filled with unidentified tinctures and too dear by half. She gave it a shake as she stood. It lit up from within. “They were tired, and heartsick, and they’d never expected to inherit the Kingdom that way. They walked away.”

“But they did not abdicate,” said Tybalt. “They never renounced their claim to the throne.”

“And the kitty earns his keep!” The Luidaeg tapped her nose and offered me the glowing flask. “Here.”

This close, I could see that it was full of live fireflies. I took it anyway, asking, “What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Find Arden. I know she’s alive. I don’t know about her brother—I lost track of him after the War of Silences—but she’s alive, hidden by charms I helped craft when she was a baby.” The Luidaeg smiled wryly. “Magic’s a bitch that way. But if you want to stop the goblin fruit, you have to change the law. Since the current Queen won’t do that, you need to change the person who makes the law.”

“And since the Queen has exiled me, this is the perfect time for me to try.” I peered through the side of the flask. “So how will these help me find Arden?”

“She’ll be in a place that anyone who claims allegiance to the Mists never sees—a place you don’t want to go, because it doesn’t exist for you. As long as you keep one of those,” she nodded toward the fireflies, “with you at all times, you’ll see through any illusions in your way. They’ll burn brighter in the presence of my magic, to light your way, and if you set them on the wing, they’ll do their best to chase it down. I caught them myself, on the moors of Annwn, and bathed them for a full month in the moonlight of Tirn Aill. I made them, so I can’t use them, but you can. Each one will glow for a full day once you let it out. If that’s enough . . .”

I counted fireflies. “Ten glowing bugs to help me find a missing Princess protected by charms you can’t see through. After that, all I have to do is depose the current Queen of the Mists, convince Arden to take the throne, and get myself un-banished. Oh, yeah. Piece of cake.” I scowled at the Luidaeg. “Don’t you believe in easy quests?”

“No.” She smiled again. At least this time there was a trace of sympathy in her expression. Not much, but I’d take what I could get. “I don’t want you getting bored.”

“Right.” I looked at Tybalt, and then at the flask of fireflies. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s a risk right now.”

“It never is, with you,” said Tybalt.

“Well, okay.” I slipped the flask into the inside pocket of my jacket, checking twice to be sure it was secure. “Let’s go find a Princess.”